


Not Going Anywhere

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Bro Average Vlog, Caretaking, Caring, Concern, Exhaustion, Fainting, Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Mid-Canon, Multiple Selves, Overworking, Platonic Cuddling, Promises, Texting, stunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Chase overworks himself and manages to make himself sick. To make matters worse, the text he sends asking for someone to pick him up goes to the wrong person.





	Not Going Anywhere

“Hey, hey…take it easy. You just passed out.”

Blinking blearily against the fluorescent lights that swam overhead, Chase lifted an arm that felt heavier than the entirety of his weight to shield his eyes. As he peeked between his fingers, he could make out the face of his cameraman, Stanley, hovering over him. “Dude…” Memory poured back in all at once and he stiffened, blurting out, “We’re—we’re gonna have to retake that shot—You turned the camera off before I bombed it, right?”

“Honestly I think that’s the least important thing to worry about right now,” Stanley remarked. “Whoa, don’t try to sit up! You’re white as a sheet and I think you got a fever. You need—”

“All I need is to make sure my viewers aren’t freaking out; there’s nothin’—I—I’m fine,” Chase stammered hurriedly, pushing himself up on his elbows and then rolling sideways onto hands and knees. His breath stuttered at the rolling nausea that plummeted into his stomach at the sudden motion. “I’m fine,” he muttered as he let his head hang a little lower, waiting for the dizziness to settle.

“Bro, you really should call in,” Stanley insisted, fishing Chase’s phone out of his pocket and sliding it over the carpet next to his hand. “C’mon.”

“Not a chance,” Chase huffed shakily, ignoring how his arms ached and trembled as he pushed off his hands to rise. He was expecting to at least make it to the door before he needed to grab something, but he only managed to stumble a yard or two before the floor dipped underneath him, a dark mist cascaded over his eyes and his body listed in the wrong direction. Distantly he heard Stanley yelp in alarm before he crumpled sideways over the conference table, gasping for breath. For a moment or two he simply stayed where he was, turning his cheek into the cool comfort of the tabletop before Stanley dragged him upright and steered him into the nearest chair.

“Chase, you’re not going anywhere except  _home_ , to  _bed_ ,” he snapped, snatching up his phone and pressing it firmly into the vlogger’s hand, wrapping his fingers around it with a finalizing squeeze. “Call or text someone.”

“…M’kay. M’kay.” Panting as he abruptly found himself out of breath, Chase fumbled shaking fingers over his cell screen in clumsy swipes, the right numbers eluding him for three or four tries before it finally unlocked.

The text he sent was more or less nothing but a jumbled mess; hopefully it would make enough sense for Marvin to know he needed to pick him up. With that out of the way, Chase let his phone drop into his lap and leaned his head back against the chair’s padding, inhaling deeply and listening to his heart race.

“Thanks, Stan,” he mumbled, to which the cameraman said something or another about putting out a tweet to reassure fans of the channel before patting his shoulder and heading out of the room. Now that he was alone with the silence, Chase let his eyes slip closed.

Cool, calloused hands touching his face made him startle slightly, lifting his aching head with a deep grimace. “Marv?”

**“Oh, my, you’re scalding!”**

As Chase’s dazed eyes landed on the speech slide hovering in front of him, they widened. “Jameson? What…what’re you doin’ here?”

 **“You sent for me!”** the younger Ego protested worriedly. **“I received a message from the device you bought for me, saying you’d fallen ill and you needed help!”**

As he sat up straighter in the chair, Chase leaned too far forward and had to set his elbows on his knees to keep from pitching onto the floor as he groaned out a curse. “That was meant for Marvin…”

 **“The Magnificent had a meeting with his stage manager this afternoon; he’s already gone,”**  Jameson reminded him, wringing his hands fretfully as he watched Chase massage his forehead. After another minute, he huffed determinedly and squared his shoulders.  **“Well, you needn’t worry. I’ll get you home and taken care of.”**

“Aw, Jem, you don’t have to bother…I can…”

**“Absolutely not, sir! I may not be able to magically heal you but I have no intention of standing idly by. Speaking of which, give me your arm.”**

Judging by how he was already pocketing Chase’s phone and reaching to grasp his hand, it didn’t seem like he going to take no for an answer, so Chase allowed it, remarking wryly, “I don’t think Marv would be able to magically heal me either—or maybe he’s holdin’ out on me.” Once their fingers were entwined, he was a little startled at the strength behind Jameson’s heave. It was undermined by the gentleness of the arm wrapping around his waist that followed, though.

 **“Lean on me if you feel the need,”**  Jameson urged kindly as they shuffled toward the door.  

“S’okay,” Chase assured him again. Jameson didn’t respond, so he couldn’t be sure whether or not he believed him.

The need to lean on him really didn’t surface until they made it into the taxi and the drive home started. The sudden stops and starts at the lights and the swerving turns were butchering his stomach; the longer it went on, the harder Chase found it to swallow—the more he  _needed_  to swallow. Jameson’s arm remained firmly around his back, his hand squeezing his side.

 **“Easy now,”**  he soothed, brows knitting in understated worry.  **“Deep breaths, Chase, deep breaths. We’re almost there, it won’t be long…”**

Even with JJ’s reassurances, Chase was quite seriously considering throwing himself out of the taxi by the time Egos Incorporated appeared before them. Somehow or another they made it down the hall to his bedroom before his weakened legs gave out under the dizziness; as they did, Jameson jumped and twisted in a way his body probably wasn’t meant to as he tried to steer Chase onto the bed instead of the floor.

He landed face first in the sheets, moaning something unintelligible in mingled relief and discomfort. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jameson speaking but he couldn’t find the strength to lift his head and look. If he made a guess, the younger Ego was probably asking if he needed anything else.

“Got a headache,” he mumbled, sliding a hand up over his head and groping inelegantly around for the bedside table. When that proved ineffective, he gave up, letting his arm fall limply over the side of the bed. “Jays, there’s…whiskey there somewhere…”

 **“Absolutely not!”**  Jameson exclaimed indignantly, his words going unseen. **“Whiskey is not a substitute for proper medicines! I’ll go fetch something more fitting.”**  As he turned away, he gave his vest an agitated tug, shaking his head.  **“I’ll need to send a message to the doctor and ask what may be suitable…The names on those bottles are far beyond me!”**

When Chase waited and heard JJ’s footsteps retreating instead of the familiar, comforting sloshes of whiskey dancing in its bottle, he sighed groggily. “Okay. Guess I’ll just sleep it off then…” Kicking off his shoes with a bit of a struggle, he took a breath and held it, hoping that the nausea would be suppressed with it as he eased himself over onto his back.

His body pillow was there at his side by the wall, soft and inviting, but it took only a minute after he hugged it against his chest for its case to absorb his feverish heat and become uncomfortable. Fine, he mused grudgingly as he shoved it away. He was already exhausted enough that he had a feeling he could fall asleep without it.

On the other side of the house, Jameson rifled haphazardly through the doctor’s cabinets, glancing every so often at the message Schneeplestein had sent in reply to his question. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too angry at how untidy the various medical bottles were becoming under Jameson’s probing hands; he was in a hurry to get back to Chase before Chase tried again to reach for that whiskey. The anxiety churning in his gut didn’t particularly help him keep everything straight either.

By all of the others’ accounts, it was rare for Chase to fall ill. Jackieboy and the doctor himself seemed to have the weaker immune systems in the group, while Jameson had yet to see Marvin even break a sweat that wasn’t related to a true injury. Chase, however—Chase was meant to remain untouchable. The lingering sensation of the heat in his palms as he’d cupped his face and hugged his back was  _alarming_.

Even more alarming was the fact that by the time he got back, Chase was already dead asleep, his breathing slow and heavy. The man had the energy and drive of one of those electric batteries Jameson had learned of! He wasn’t meant to fall asleep so quickly…He wasn’t meant be so pallid…He wasn’t meant to have those dark rings underneath his eyes…He just  _wasn’t_.

Pursing his lips tightly, Jameson set the pain medication on the bedside table.  **“I ought not to expect so much of you,”**  he murmured.  **“But when _you’re_  out of sorts, you have  _me_  out of sorts, my fine fellow.”**

Beyond that, he didn’t know what to say. He knew Chase wasn’t hearing him, so what was the point? He didn’t have any intention of leaving either. Exhaling shortly, he leaned to his left and took up the whiskey bottle on instinct, examining how much of it was left. Not much, but Chase wouldn’t notice if he had a sip, would he?

The sip became two or three sips, which became a hasty hand on top of his hat so he could tilt his head back for a swig. He  _was_  a gentleman, however; he wouldn’t take all of another man’s whiskey! What he had was just enough to bolster him, help him find it in himself to take off his hat, crawl up onto the bed next to the older Ego and curl into the crook of his arm.

As the bedsprings creaked, Chase twitched and shivered faintly, a half-formed murmur leaving his lips as he turned his head away, and Jameson promptly stilled, making himself as small as possible so he wouldn’t disturb him any further. Only once the vlogger’s higher, shorter gasps eased back into deeper breathing did Jameson release his own, swallowing hard.

It occurred to him then that such close proximity may very well get him sick as well, but now Chase was shivering steadily and his hand was instinctively tightening on the fabric of Jameson’s vest.

 **“I’m not going anywhere,”**  the younger Ego concluded, peeking pensively up at Chase’s pale, clammy features.  **“I’m not going anywhere.”**

The second time, it was a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Help, I'm addicted --


End file.
